


i speak better in emojis

by thisprentiss



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Autistic Character, Slightly Ableist Language, honestly?? its like 2 in the morning and my autistic ass is craving That Representation, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:21:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8153764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisprentiss/pseuds/thisprentiss
Summary: honestly? it's 2 in the morning and my autistic ass is craving That Representation. aaron and charles lee are both autistic & they're gonna bond over it





	

**Author's Note:**

> aaron's got a lot of internalized ableism & says/thinks a couple of low key ableist things in this chapter  
> the burrs: we have made an allistic passing child  
> me: u fucked up a perfectly good autistic child is what u did

Aaron always took the same seat in the lecture hall. It was just something he did. He'd get there early, he'd put his stuff down, he'd sit at the desk until the hall had filled and Professor Washington had started talking. It didn't turn any heads; everyone assumed he just liked the desk. Or maybe it was the best angle to see the board. Whatever they thought, they didn't think it was out of the ordinary.

That's what's important.

He made up a mysterious personality for himself, only answering personal questions to either close friends or when it was a convenience for him. He didn't talk much, always saying that he prefers to listen. Hamilton made up a slogan for him, 'talk less, smile more' as if he were a candidate running for the award Most Vague. But no one questioned when he didn't pipe up in discussions or add his two cents in an argument.

It didn't seem strange to them, and that's what's important.

All his special interests were shut behind clenched teeth and silent smiles, refusing to start talking in fear that he would talk too much. Instead, he did research on his own time, filling journals upon journals with fun facts he found, interesting data, printing out pictures and gluing them in. But he didn't talk out loud about anything, not about his fascination with time travel or revolution era duels.

No one had to hear what he wanted to say, it didn't seem strange to them, and that's what's important.

Aaron's parents had always raised him to seem _normal_ and to act like a _normal_ kid. They chastised him when he couldn't speak and yelled at him when he spoke too much. They slapped at his hands when he tried to fidget and gave him stern looks when he bounced his leg. So he started adapting. Finding ways to stim in public without standing out. Without looking _weird_.

He never drew attention to himself, no one had to hear what he wanted to say, it didn't seem strange to them, and that's what's important.

None of his friends knew he was autistic. He couldn't _bear_ to think what they would say if they _did_ know. They just thought all his _odd_ mannerisms were _just Burr things. You know Burr. He just does that kind of stuff._ Alexander Hamilton, the resident psychology major, tried to diagnose him with anti social personality disorder, but was shut down quickly by everyone in the room. _He's not anti social. He's just Burr. It's just stuff he does._

A month into sophomore year of college at Maine State, Aaron took his usual seat in the lecture hall as he always did. It was early, because he always got there early, and Eliza was the only other one in the whole room.

Slowly but surely, other students trickled in one by one and took their seats, starting up conversations until the hall was roaring with noise. Aaron stuck his earbuds in his ears and turned on a white noise track, burying his head in his arms until class started.

Once Professor Washington was there, and the room had fallen silent once again, Aaron felt safe enough to take out his earbuds and sit up straighter. He watched the professor write out her schedule for the day's three hour period, shouting out directions to her teaching assistants.

Aaron noticed movement to his left.

He turned his head to look, and raised an eyebrow cautiously. The kid sitting next to him had to be around his age, though with his boyish haircut and knees pulled up to his chest, he looked as if he were in high school. The movement that had caught Aaron's eye was the rocking back and forth motion the kid was going through, back of a pen clenched between his teeth.

"Are you okay?" he asked, leaning over slightly. The kid just looked at him for a moment, closing his mouth around the pen and stopping his rocking movement.

"Stimulation, jackass," he shot back, picking up where he had left off in the rocking motion, "I'm autistic. I'll literally lose my shit if I don't do that."

Aaron felt like he'd just gotten run over by a whole bus and then sent through a food processor. A million thoughts were racing through his mind. _Did this kid just... openly admit to me that he's autistic? Is he seriously dumb enough to stim in public? How did the two autistics in the class end up sitting right next to each other?_

But nothing came out of his mouth. He probably looked like an allistic asshole, judging or feeling pity for _the poor autistic kid in the class._

The lecture flew by faster than it ever had before.

When it was over, Aaron immediately packed up his things and filed out of the row, following awkwardly behind the kid that had been sitting next to him. Once the crowd of students leaving had dispersed a bit, he jogged up and waved. "Hey!" he said, smiling in what he hoped was a friendly way. The kid just stared at him. Aaron swallowed. "You- um. You're autistic."

"Yeah?" the kid said, sounding annoyed, "Why?"

Aaron tried for another smile. "I- um. That's so cool. I- I am too. Autistic, I mean. I'm also autistic," he stammered out, and this time the kid actually seemed to brighten up, "I just wanted to say, um. It's pretty impressive. You being comfortable stimming in public."

He laughed slightly. "I mean no one really likes me in the first place, why not give them another reason to think I'm weird?"

"I've never been able to do that. My parents sort of drilled the whole act allistic thing into my brain since I was a kid, so... ha," Aaron said, and then held out a hand, "I'm Aaron, by the way. Aaron Burr."

"Charles Lee," the kid responded, though he didn't take Aaron's hand, "Drilled..."

Aaron stared for a moment, and then realization hit him. "Oh, oh god, I'm sorry. Act allistic, I sort of know my way around figures of speech. Drilled it into my brain, they uh- they told it to me a lot. And now I do it."

Charles nodded, the rocking back and forth motion returning, though this time he was standing. "So what's your major, Aaron Burr?"

"History, focus on colonial era. You?"

"Undecided. I'm just sort of existing," Charles Lee said, this time laughing a bit less stiffly. He glanced down at the watch around his wrist after a moment, and then looked up with a regretful look on his face. "I have a class, but we should talk later."

"Okay!" Aaron said, waving again as he watched Charles Lee jog off toward one of the other buildings on campus. It took him a moment, but then he realized that the smile he'd had on his face hadn't disappeared yet.

And that only made him smile more.


End file.
